


no celluloid

by CafeLeningrad



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Nyotalia, PrUk Secret Santa 2017, WW II!AU, female!Prussia, historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CafeLeningrad/pseuds/CafeLeningrad
Summary: PrUk Secret Santa 2017; prompt for a historical setting.





	no celluloid

**Author's Note:**

> As a prompt for PrUk 2017; The entire post was publshed on my art blog. As usual I'd too many ideas and this is the text that came with the fanart.

Now the war was over. So was Maria’s beauty. So she thought.

Arthur remembered the evening in Marseille, June 1935.

The local newspapers blew the story of a German filming in the region. Apparently an approach to a German idea of Agatha Christie. As excuse to not waste too much of his presence in François’ house, and as distraction from the heat, Arthur had decided to visit the set. Unfortunately a broken car and lacking knowledge about mechanics delayed his arrival.  
The sky’d been already tinted blue, the first star signs and the polar star to discover.  
A ghost appeared to him. An scaring, ethereal appearance, all pale, dressed in white. Eyes red, lipstick even more red.  
After she’d laughed at his helpless attempts to fix an engine, they’d introduced. 

Maria Beilschmidt. Kirkland, Arthur Kirkland. 

She’d promised to change her dress, change it for one more suitable for car repairs. On the way to this cloth in a suitcase in her hotel, they’d talked, effortlessly.  
Maria liked to hint for small, meaningless debates, both if them liked the challenge, and each other. In fact, Maria’d never changed her dress that night. When dawn illuminated her room instead of the electric light, it also dawned to them to end the dialogue, and get some sleep before Maria had to work. Arthur’d been too sleepy to realize still… when he woke up, head too heavy from missing sleep and heat, Maria got already dressed, asking the servant to bring fresh juicy. If he would like to join to watch her at work while her brother would fix his car?  
Astonished Arthur saw himself pulled by Maria on the very same set he intended visiting. On first sight she’d seemed overworldly in the moonlight but under the sun her spirit and devotion of acting was the center of the filming. And of Arthur’s attention.  
This summer was a break from rain and the business at his desk in the ministry. He was entering a new world.  
A world of Maria as his sun. On some evenings they’d be going dancing, draping her jacket over he shoulder always let fear to tell her goodbye the last time mount, and every noon he saw her teeth bare in her wild smile, he couldn’t even scold himself for loosing his composure.  
Ludwig, that was her brother’s name. He’d fixed Arthur’s car just fine. His impression when he met Arthur wasn’t though.  
“Did I do something to him?” Arthur asked one day, Maria and him walking down the streets of Aix, her hands holding his arm. She did not look at him when she answered: “He doesn’t like us speaking English to each other. He doesn’t speak it.”  
“I’m afraid my German can barely be described as such.”  
But Maria shook her head. “He doesn’t like me going out on my own. He doesn’t like that he’s too young to have an income but I do earn for him and me. I love him, I earnestly do, but…”  
On their last day Arthur felt dusty, overheated, even in his fine suit. Maria looked dashing as always, her dress was tomalin blue, lipstick burgundy. Ludwig did look somber when he entered the train, continued looking somber when he looked out the window to see where his sister was.  
Maria did explicitly not look into his direction. Instead of saying anything, so much ramblings, summer breeze fantasies spinning in Arthur’s mind, his entire Eaton-, and Cambridge-education dissolved into nothingness. Only the sight of Maria, this day without makeup so pale, and yet a streak of dark silver conturing her lashes, brows and hair from her alabasta skin, eyes he colour of pomgrenate, and fiery as rubies. In a dress of dark green she looked even more outside this world than on any time else. But the long kiss the gave him, he sunk into, her hands around his face, his fingers tangling into her hair, that was so real.  
When he opened his his eyes again, she ran already to the train, turning her head a last time before she stepped in. She smiled. Bright as always, and yet, she seemed sad.

Back in his summer residence Arthur pulled out an envelope and a pen.  
“To: Maria Beilschmidt  
Studio Babelsberg”  
After he quickly scribbled the rest of her address and the his own in a corner of the evelope Arthur wasted ink and paper. It was the the first daylight breaking through his window telling him he had been awake the entire night. In front of him lay countless attempts to write all he felt, lived through, dreamed of yet all the wasted papers had in common to begin with “beloved Maria”.  
Waking up in the afternoon, Arthur padded towards his desk, to give a proper letter a fair try but his concierge told him how she dutifully had fitted all these papers in one envelope and had brought it to the post. Arthur returned to bed early.

.

Maria never replied.  
The news papers and theaters carried many unsettling news, even though Arthur felt a distinguished kind of disgust about some of his superiors and colleagues whispering in half-sentence: “He seems to know solutions.”  
Cinema had barely been any of Arthurs passions yet he found himself elaborating his cinematic knowledge by walking into any flic anticipating the announcement of a new German movie before the actual movie started.  
From a movie fascinated colleague Arthur borrowed a magazine.  
The article on page three talked in seriousness about the limitation of arts in Germany. The drain of once brilliant Babelsberg. Karl Hirscher was missing. That name rung a bell. He had been the director of the movie Maria starred in. Years later Arthur would learn Hirscher was found in an unspeakable state, carelessly left in the wood where the last set had been organized.

.

1941\. Arthur saw Maria finally on screen. In a British movie. If her beauty hadn’t drawn attention to her appearance, the scar on her left cheek would have. It was an unclean, brutal cut from a corner of her mouth.  
When Arthur saw the movie of her, tint of her accent, telling of the cruelty of the Nazis, the glory of the British army worth an epic to animate the forces to battle, a turnmoil of feelings spun in Arthurs chest. In the end they muddled to an obsession, despair.  
Thanks to his name and position she was soon to be found in London, to a governmentally supported studio.  
The set was already on. There she stood, in the middle of the chaos of technicians and assistances. Of course Arthur noticed her scar, her cheeks having become gaunt as well. But his heart ached.  
Maria could barely react when a shadow came over her. A flash of green eyes. A kiss. Hungry, so fully loving.  
The contrast of their skins fascinated him. Arthur’s brothers, all very freckled and red haired, had mocked their little brother for him sitting too often in the library, and not getting any sunlight on his skin. But compared to Maria’s sugar white skin Arthur look almost like polished bronze.  
Maria laughed. “How deluded Bristish you are.”  
Arthur just drew her closer in his arms, inhaling her scent under the fading perfume. Head beaded on her bare chest, her hands combing through his hair, it felt a bit like heaven.  
The shadow of terror lay over their happy still short lived reunion. “I hate them…” Maria mumbled with grim “I hate them!”  
None needed to ask who she meant. “The greatest spark of this country died with the election of these swines.” Arthur seconded.  
Maria was for Great Britain what Marlene Dietrich was for the USA. When Maria wasn’t busy animating people to join the army on celluloid or public appearances, she yelled, threatened, charmed, convinced and persuaded desk clerks to fasten their work at immigrant offices, perhaps, with a mild eye? Arthur himself was called to the RAF. He was an excellent pilot, no doubt.  
It wasn’t much a bother to Maria to convince her crew that the RAF needed a attracting look.  
When she looked up the sky her longing grew wider the smaller the plane shrunk in the sky. The uptight, sophisticated yet loving men was all she’d left to hold on. Smiling, persuading, acting. It was a craft she learnt. How easy it was to smile in any situation, hold one straight - sometimes she almost believed herself to never loose faith. Faith… in what?  
I want it to end.  
She wanted back the days her father played piano and Ludwig and her would try dance steps. Her mother had promised to Maria to sew her a wedding dress. After father had died, Ludwig insisted on walking her down the aisle.  
Everyone suddenly married each other. They wanted to be with their sweetheart as close as possible. The intensity of their love should replace the many moments they’d eventually never have.  
Concerning Arthur, he never dropped that matter. Although he could be snob'ish, he never wasted himself for halfhearted affairs.  
And for the moment Maria was soleyly thankful for the mornings or evenings the planes would land on British soil. Then Arthur would climb out the cockpit, tired but living. This was the greatest luxury Maria could ask for.  
For a man with Arthur’s title he lived rather deliberately with Maria. Such and so it would have been impossible to hide their romance.  
Maria was too famous as well as too uniquely looking to pass unnoticed, nor did Arthur feel ashamed of loving her.  
“The German woman” was a name dropped from people outside the film makers crew or the small circle of friends Maria was able to make in this time.  
They questioned Arthur for his choice, from his brother carefully asking about their liaison, to his Aunt Beatrice welcoming almost every woman (“as long as she isn’t continental, Irish, not a virgin, communist, or Catholic”) to hinder Arthur dying a bachelor - until the question was raised in the higher military ranks.  
That evening Maria brewed Arthur’s tea extra strong, to cool him down.  
“I am bringing you in danger. Stop shurging! You’re not a rebellious child anymore!” “These were the same men secretly saying that madmen on the continent would be right… who are they to question me this madman’s opposition.”  
“You bring yourself in danger.”  
“We’re at war. We already have to fear for our lives every hour.”

Normally they didn’t talk much about the demons haunting them. They could see it in each other’s faces when they fled to the security barracks in the night, or fled. Maria went through her work with a grim passion, Arthur flew higher, so high his mind batted it’s wings up above the clouds. It made so many things easier.  
Doubt and disgust overcame Arthur when he caught himself agreeing to his opponent’s philosophy. Counting all the heads as masses, human material it was easier not to cry. If the rumors about Hitler weren’t scary before, they surely froze the blood in Arthur’s veins. They weren’t fighting against soldiers only, they fought against a monstrosity. Every day people died like flies.  
The actual pain was crying day to day for friends blowing up in smoke and fire, or simply never landing back again. After feeling the despair over and over, Arthur thought, he might become used, preferably numb to it. Losses and the thrill of his own death let him bleed out…  
Instead every new death was a bright candle blown out. A wound torn open again and again.

Certainly Maria’s straight forwarded manner got her too often into trouble - equally it helped her to have a clear image of her character over the years. Her outspoken disdain of the Nazi-party and her active work of shelter dissolved suspicion of her being a spy. Only publicly.  
Behind her back, people would still talk about: “The German woman.”“Ich liebe dich.” Arthur would say whenever he held her in her arms. “Your German’d bad.” Maria would laugh and lean on him like a kitten.  
She understood his support.  
Sometimes Arthur asked himself why she never spoke of Ludwig, if she thought of him when she spew on her country.

“Arthur, Arthur listen what they say in the radio! The War, it’s over!”  
“That means by September I’ll be off duty. Finally we’ve time.”  
“Pardon?”  
“Marry me, Liebchen?”>

.

Maria cried out. So loudly Arthur wrung his hands nervously.  
“Sir, your wife is perfectly well!” the nurse chirped.

“Hrnn” Arthur made eloquently.  
The nurse disappeared and Arthur was just left staring at the hospital door where voices of many people mixed with his wife’s voice.

Elsa Kirkland was a particular child. Bright, well mannered, pretty but unfortunately inherited her parent’s hot temper as well. She was often found out in the garden of her home in Berlin. This year she carried around a chubby baby.  
“Martin, Martin, don’t eat the daisies!”  
The diplomats stationed in Berlin loved the little girl whenever she was on her mother’s side to take home her father from work. Arthur Kirkland got an US build home offered.  
“Celebrity bonus.” Maria remarked when the US diplomats asked for Arthur to support them in their diplomatic work for the correspondence between London and Berlin, and negotiations between British and US forces.  
“I just got lucky not getting shot down from the sky.” Arthur grumbled.  
“No.” He stood up and kissed his wife on her cheek. “It’s because my wife is still the hottest gal in this town.”  
“Not in front of the children. But go on in the bedroom after dinner.”  
Things seemed to come into order. Actually they weren’t. The tension with the Russian troops remained uncomfortable, Maria insulted the Nürnberg trials for not having found “the entire nest cockroaches” and later cheered at Beate Klaasfeld.  
On Sundays Maria would carry Martin while Arthur took Elsa’s hand and Maria would wander around Berlin, point at various spots and tell their children what the Nazis and the war had taken away from the city. (The details of what she did there in the youth was not appropriate for their children’s ears yet.)  
But Germany was tired of the loss and hardship. The country eyed anxiously at the East and yet closed eyes and ears to sleep over the nightmare it caused, and still lived on under false names in South America or with new functions.

1954\. Arthur congratulated himself for not having strangled Alfred Jones at work. That man was the human embodiment of “nuisance à la carte”. What had ever done to his superior that he had to communicate with that man who’s brain probably was as mushy as the chewing gum he always chewed on like a cow?  
Nobody greeted him at the entrance. Their housekeeper had her day off, as Maria also believed in manual work herself.  
Arthur found his children unusually quiet in the living room. Elsa stared down her book for school, Martin put wooden animals on esch other. A dog on a donkey. Arthur had read the fairytale of Bremen to his children the evening past.  
“Why are you so quiet?” Arthur asked in suspicion.  
Elsa looked up, insecurity in her eyes. “Mama ist traurig.” she said simply and then pointed to the garden.  
Arthur found Maria with the back to him. Her long, white hair was braided down in a beautiful braid. It wasn’t her fault to be born an albino still she reminded Arthur of a fae creature. Hair like starlight.   
She smoked. Maria barely smoked.  
“Liebling?” Arthur asked carefully. Maria turned to him, slowly. Her composure was all calm but her eyes were red rimmed. In the hand not holding a cigaret she held numerous papers on which a strict handwriting was scrawled on.  
“I…” she sobbed and Arthur took her immediately in his arms. Warm tears soaked his shoulders but he didn’t care. “I met our cousin. The-The Austrian one, you know? He and his fiancée fled to Switzerland b-but… Roderich stayed longer than Elizaveta to secure at least their fiscal means, and he met Ludwig stationed close to their home. Ludiwg… oh!” Maria sobbed loudly “he wrote all these letters to me. He was so afraid. He was disgusted by himself. He hated himself so much for having ever believed in these swines. He missed me. He… wrote how happy he would be to see me again. He would give us his blessings for our vows… Roderich gave me the documents of his death. They shot him for treason.”


End file.
